I Speak The Truth

This week I was scolded by, what I thought was, a friend because of something I said casually in passing. After watching this person mope around and be short with people for days, I told Nuncy (*name changed to protect anonymity*) that she was "cranky".
Call me crazy but, to me, "cranky" is not an insult. I say I'm cranky at least once a week out loud for all to hear. AND, to prove my point, she snapped at me in front of people in an environment not accepting of such childish nonsense, which is Exhibit One that she was, indeed, cranky.
Take a look at any recent reality show. Imagine if "cranky" was the worst insult that was thrown around. Snooki would've fallen on hard times years ago. Teresa would simply be a NJ mother of four poorly dressed little girls. Heather would be rocking her love everywhere...but not on VH1.
Why is it so hard to hear the truth? Is it because we don't want it brought to our attention or because we are so shocked that someone actually has the guts to say it aloud? It's like, if we don't speak it, it doesn't exist...?
Although it's sometimes hard to hear the truth, wouldn't you want someone to tell you something upfront rather than them sugarcoat things and make you believe that things are different? No? Who are you? Fleetwood Mac? "Tell me, tell me, tell me lies. Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies..."

Blowing A Fuse

So, for those of you not summering in New England, this summer has been very warm...this week especially. It was pushing 100* in Rhode Island on Thursday and once the sun went down it didn't get much cooler.

As I've been doing for the past couple of weeks, I turned on my air conditioner in my bedroom as I was getting ready for bed. I also sleep with a small fan facing me on my nightstand because I'm a glutton. I think I was a dog in a moving car in a past life.

Anyways, I woke up this morning in a puddle of my own nightsweat. "Totally gross. Why?" you ask. Well, in the middle of the night, my air conditioner decided to blow a fuse. God only knows how I didn't wake up but when my alarm went off this morning these were the thoughts going through my head:
"God damn, it's hot!"
"Why is it so quiet in here?"
"If that switch is in the 'on' position, why is it not on?"
"Did the power go out?"
"It couldn't have gone out because my clock's not blinking...and the lights work."
"Kate is going to kill me!" (Kate was spending the evening on an aerobed in my living room when this heat wave travesty occurred.)

Luckily, I went to the fusebox in the kitchen and simply flipped a switch and all was right in the world.

(Kate also survived.)

"I'm Mr. Green Christmas. I'm Mr. Sun. I'm Mr. Heat Blister. I'm Mr. 101. They call me Heat Miser. Whatever I touch, starts to melt in my clutch. I'm too much."

Introducing...Me!

Hi friends. My name is Trish and I'm a Libra...or, at least, I was one before Ophiuchus came along. I'm 30 years old and reside in Rhode Island. I enjoy riding in the trunks of cars, rolling my eyes and reading while out to dinner with friends. If you're reading this blog you probably already know many of the ludicrous stories I have to share...but, have no fear, there are more in the vault and, no doubt, more to occur. So, sit back, grab a treat and enjoy...at my expense.